


Mickey's Playhouse Of Rubdowns

by Pisces21Red



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Episode: S04E10 Liver I Hardly Know Her, Ian's Loving Mickey's Magical Fingers, Lip's An Asshole, M/M, Massage, Mickey's Feeling Generous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-29
Updated: 2014-11-29
Packaged: 2018-02-27 09:47:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2688263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pisces21Red/pseuds/Pisces21Red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That episode where Debs and Ian go to look for Fiona at Robbie's place and Debbie notices Ian messing with his neck to which he replied “I tried these barbell lift exercises, they really work your shoulders.”</p><p>Or, Mickey massages Ian's shoulders and neck because he's a good boyfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mickey's Playhouse Of Rubdowns

**Author's Note:**

> Two stories posted over the course of a few hours? I'm on a goddamn roll. What in the fuck has the world come to?
> 
> But seriously, enjoy reading.

Sitting at the Gallagher’s kitchen table, Mickey was counting out the money they’d been successfully making from the Rub N’ Tug business, separating it into piles based off on what was needed and what could be pocketed since Kev proved that he was shit when it came to keeping track of the financial side of things.

But Mickey had to keep starting over as the events that took place that day kept nudging its way into the forefront of his mind. Fucking Kevin having either the audacity or stupidity, Mickey was pretty sure it was both, to rob him with his _own_ gun and then fucking Mandy and that…complete piece of shit Kenyatta putting his hands on her.

The next time he saw him, he was fucking _dead_. His sister was annoying and nosy sometimes but she didn’t deserve that shit, no one did, her life had already been screwed to hell more times than Mickey could count on his ten fingers.

He was unsure about Kev so far. Ian’s been trying to talk him out of blowing his head off, yapping in his ear about Kevin being a friend and that he was a gentle and harmless giant and he was just trying to do what was right for his family and blah, blah, blah but Mickey had to get his point across somehow. And that always consisted of someone being shanked or wasted away with one of the many guns they got stashed up in the house.

He probably wouldn’t go through with it for the simple fact that the Gallaghers would _murder_ him, after Veronica chopped his body into itsy, bitsy pieces first and the fact that he could grudgingly admit that Kev’s cluelessness about things entertained him to no end, so who knew.

Maybe he’ll just pull a Stewie and Brian but instead of Stewie beating the shit out of Brian all over the bathroom, the hallway and living room and Brian pushing Stewie in front of the bus, he’ll just get one good punch in while demanding that the Ball owed him his money. Maybe. Ian’d probably kill him just for that.

Speaking of Gallagher, he had just walked in through the back door. “Hey. You find your sister yet?”

Hanging up his coat on the hook by the door, Ian walked over to the fridge and grabbed some juice for himself. “Yeah, Lip found in her in _Sheboygan_.”

Mickey turned around with a skeptical look on his face. “How the fuck she get all the way up there? That’s like,” Mickey took a second to count in his head. “At _least_ two hours away from here.”

“I know,” Ian laughed out in disbelief, taking a seat at the table. “We didn’t even know where the hell that was, but Lip was able to find her at some convenience store there. They’re out with her P.O. right now though.”

Mickey only knew where the city was because he’d drive with his brothers and father damn near all throughout the fifty states for drug runs and weapons dealing.

“You Gallaghers are definitely a handful.” Mickey muttered, restarting his counting once again.

“Speak for yourself, Mick.” Ian joked, rolling his neck around. “Thanks for coming with me to that freakshow wedding today.”

“Had to make sure you weren’t gonna go take a detour and start up a new hobby of serial killing or some shit.” Mickey glanced up at Ian, noticing him shifting his shoulders, before focusing back on sorting the money. “You scared the shit outta me, Ian.” He said softly.

He really did. He was gone for not even a minute before he heard the commotion going on and his heart nearly stopped in his chest at the sight of Ian, the always rational and caring one, holding a knife to Kenyatta’s throat with an insane look in his eye. The look that screamed he wasn’t afraid to sever a main artery and let someone bleed out to death at his feet. Mickey knew that look since he’d seen more than enough deaths happen before his very eyes than he cared to admit or even think about.

But then it was gone just like that. Regular Ian pushing its way through again.

“I couldn’t even tell you how it happened, Mick.” Ian started, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “I was just…so _fucking_ angry that he hit her and that she was _choosing_ to stay with him. Did she think we were fucking morons and we really believed that “I fell” bullshit? One minute I was trying to convince her to get outta there and the next…” Ian trailed off, Mickey nodding in understanding of what followed.

“Well, whatever you need, man, y’know I’m here.” Mickey sincerely said.

He knew when Ian was ready, he’d confide in him, so, for now, it was just best to keep an eye on him yet not push it and give him his space. “Thanks, Mick.”

“Though I gotta say,” Ian lifted his head at hearing Mickey start to speak again. “Seeing you with a knife to that fucker’s throat, ready to take care a’ business…” Mickey gave him a look that spoke volumes of kinky shit.

“What? It got you going?” The ginger smiled at Mickey’s raised eyebrow, knowing he hit the nail on the head and he was ready to suggest that they go upstairs and relieve some frustration together. “I don’t know if whether I should be concerned that you find me with a knife to someone’s throat a turn on or if I should pull you upstairs so we can take care of a different kind of business.”

Mickey had to laugh at the completely cheesy line. “Easy there, tough guy. Carl’s up there with his better half and Liam’s sleeping.”

“Ah, I see we’ve gotten on a first name basis with my family finally. You gonna start feeding them and buying them stuff, now?” Ian teased, tilting his head from side to side.

“Fuck off. I already got one kid I gotta take care of. The fuck you keep doin’ with your neck?” Mickey asked, noticing that the other male’s been restlessly moving his shoulders and neck since he sat down.

Ian looked up confused at the acknowledgement and then understood. “Oh, been trying these barbell lifting exercises and they put some strain on my shoulders and neck sometimes.”

Mickey questioned Ian’s intelligence with his “what the fuck?” facial expression. “Then why you keep doin’ them then, genius?”

“’Cause they’re supposed to be good for working out my muscles, Mickey.”

“It can’t be _that_ good if it’s leavin’ you in pain.” He pointed out, now sitting down his money. He’ll try again later after he relaxed a little.

“I guess.” Ian frowned and winced when a particular head tilt garnered a sharp pain shooting up the back of his neck. “Maybe I’m doing them wrong.”

“Maybe.” Mickey replied, the sarcastic little shit he was, but then realized that the expression on Ian’s face was drawn up in severe discomfort and he softened his tone but tried to cover it making it seem like he was exasperated over Ian injuring himself. “Here, c’mere.”

Mickey stood and gestured to his recently vacated chair. “Hm?”

“Come sit here.”

Ian bemusedly did what he was told and sat down, feeling the warmth of Mickey’s presence directly behind him. It was very comforting. “What’re you gonna do?”

“Just…shut up and sit there.” Mickey couldn’t believe he was doing this but they were far past the stage of him cringing away from acts of affection when alone in a room despite the fact he had yet to really come out.

Letting his hands gently come down to rest on Ian’s broad shoulders, Mickey slid them up past the collar of the open button down that covered his dark brown Henley and light grey shirt beneath the two of those, “Christ, how many shirts you got on, Gallagher?”, until his surprisingly warm fingers were able to get a centimeter underneath, the digits resting on the pale space of heated skin where the shoulders and neck met.

“It’s cold outside!” Ian defended, his heart beating faster in his chest at the knowledge over what Mickey was about to do. He made sure not to mention anything about it and let him just do his thing lest he wanted to open his mouth and ruin it with a smart or perplexed comment.

“Shut up.” Mickey lightly tapped the back of his head before setting his fingers back in their place.

His thumbs rested on the top knob of his spine at the very peak of his back and he began to lightly massage his fingers in alternating, rotational motions before gradually increasing the pressure.

Ian’s mouth dropped open slightly in both shock over Mickey actually taking the time to do this for him and at how it was actually feeling _good_. Really good.

“Feel okay?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Mickey smirked at the quick reduction into a pile of goo Ian was subjected to with just his fingers. Ian’s done that to him over the years they’d been together, Mickey guessed it was time he returned the favor with his own.

He dug into a particularly sore spot and Ian hissed and curled away from the touch the slightest bit but Mickey worked the knot over until it unwound, the pleasure of it curling down his spine to wrap around his dick, starting to bring it to life, causing him to let out a low breathy moan.

Finding more knots, Mickey continued and Ian’s groaning got louder and closer together in frequency. “Fuck, Mickey…you have no idea how fucking _amazing_ that feels.” He rasped out, eyes rolling closed.

“Yeah?”

“Fuck yeah…”

Mickey glanced over Ian’s shoulder and took note of the very visible bulge indicating that it really did feel amazing to the Gallagher. He transferred his hands to Ian’s neck, hands resting on either side, his thumbs only doing the work this time on the upper part of the pale column, close to the bottom of the shaved part of his hair.

He pressed in and that started up a new echo of groans. “Mm…little to the right, baby.” Ian whispered, eyes completely closed, face the definition of bliss.

His fingers stuttered over Ian’s neck for a second at the pet name but he let it go and complied, Ian hissing in appreciation. They weren’t the type to use pet names outside of when they were fucking ‘cause at that time both of them were usually too drunk on ecstasy to worry about filtering themselves. Mickey had nicknames for Ian of course but they didn’t cross into the pet name territory; that was just too gay for him. Though he supposed what could be gayer than loving the feel of a hard, pulsing dick splitting you open?

Mickey pushed that thought and the rest of his idiosyncrasies to the side, instead dedicating his attention to properly relaxing Ian’s sore muscles and thick, Ping-Pong ball-sized knots.

The next few minutes passed in silence with the occasional low groan and hiss from Ian as Mickey massaged and rubbed the tension away.

The sound of the front door opening broke through the domesticity of their situation and Mickey started to pull his hands away but Ian was quick to stop him, a hand coming up to rest on Mickey’s arm as he tilted his head backwards so his eyes met that of the Milkovich’s.

“Don’t stop yet, Mick, please. Just one more minute, c’mon.” He persuaded.

The hazy cloud that swirled inside Ian’s half-lidded eyes forced Mickey to acquiesce, the low stirrings of arousal starting to set deep inside the pit of his stomach at the dazed pleasure swimming across Ian’s face. Usually he himself would be too gone from his own pleasure to really focus on how sexy Ian looked when he was aroused or close to cumming but now that he had the opportunity to appreciate it and the Gallagher was basically begging him to continue, how could he resist?

He nodded and Ian went back to slumping over from the pleasurable sensation of Mickey’s magical fingers.

“Jeez, aren’t you ever going to go back to your own house?” Lip questioned as he entered the kitchen, Mickey’s tanned sweater the first thing he saw.

“Fuck off, it ain’t got shit ta’ do with you.” Lip took a sip from the bottle-necked beer he snatched from the refrigerator and his condescending smirk slowly faded as he heard a low groan and registered the motion of Mickey’s short arms moving.

“What the hell are you doing over there?”

“Lip…how’s Fi?” Lip heard the hoarse voice and walked over to Mickey. His eyebrows furrowed at the sight of Mickey Milkovich rubbing his brother’s neck with an almost content look on his face.

“Uh…yeah, she’s good. Went upstairs to shower, why is he giving you a massage?” Lip asked, the scene before him still taking a long time to properly process.

“Barbell exercises…been doing them… _ugh, fuck_ …they’re a real bitch.” Ian got out, his forearms now resting on the table, his head bent in towards his chest.

“No, no, I mean, why is _he_ massaging your neck?”

“That a problem for you, _Philip_?” Mickey sneered.

“’Cause he’s a good boyfriend.” Ian slurred out, ignorant of Mickey and Lip glaring at each other heatedly at the moment.

Mickey ignored the flare of heat that rose up into his cheeks at Ian’s loving tone and his labeling him as his boyfriend, especially being called a “good boyfriend”. He’d been such an ass to the ginger before he left and snuck into the army and the heavy realization that he possibly fucked up his chance at a relationship, with another gay male as attractive and fun and smart as Ian, a real relationship weighed on his brain like a fucking anchor every day.

For Ian to acknowledge how Mickey's changed over the last few months, it was a relief and made Mickey feel like he was on the right track of gaining back Ian’s forgiveness and trust.

“Such a good boyfriend to be the reason you left your whole family behind.” Lip muttered.

“Fuck’d you just say?” Mickey asked, hands starting to slow down in irritation at Ian’s older brother.

Ian was making low “Hmm”’s at this point signaling that Mickey was near done with the massage and the ginger spoke up again. “He didn’t say nothin’, Mick…ignore 'im.”

“Whatever, fuck yourself over again if you want to, Ian.”

“Why don’t you fuck off and go play with your sugar mama some more. Maybe she’ll by you a fuckin’ ball gag to shut your annoyin’ ass up this time, 'cause I know I'm sick a' hearin' it.”

Lip choked on his beer and turned to Ian. “You told him about Aman- ew, dude, fucking gross! You’ve got a full on chub!” Lip shielded his eyes and retreated up the stairs.

Ian let out a breathy laugh and called after Lip. “You would too if you could feel these babies!”

“Bullshit!” Lip called back and both men in the kitchen heard his door slam shut.

Mickey continued for the next couple seconds, before pulling back. “Better?” He rubbed one last hand over his neck and down his shoulder.

“Absolutely. Hmmm.” Ian sighed out, bones and whole body feeling loose like jelly. “You should open up a second business above the bar; name it…Mickey’s House of Massages. No, Mickey’s House of Rubdowns or no, better, _Mickey’s Playhouse of Rubdowns_. Bet people’ll get a kick outta that, don’t ya think, Mick?” Ian babbled.

“I think your goddamn brain slipped from your ears, tryin' ta' get away from you and your crazy ass ideas.” Mickey scoffed, walking away.

Before he could get far, however, Ian grabbed him from around the waist, laughing at the surprised shout, and pulled the Milkovich onto his lap, so he was sitting sideways across one of his thighs.

Mickey was ready to threaten Ian to let him go but when he saw the open and genuinely happy expression pasted on his face, he paused.

“Really though. Thank you, Mickey.” He then leaned in and pressed a couple kisses to Mickey’s in gratitude, the smaller man allowing it.

“Yeah, yeah. Just don’t expect me ta’ do it again.”

“Oh, no, you’re definitely doing it again.” Ian replied very matter of factly.

Mickey rolled his eyes and lifted himself off of Ian’s lap, while gathering up his calculator, little notebook and stacks of cash still innocently lying on the table but not before he ground hard against the Gallagher’s hardened dick that was rubbing enticingly along the side of his ass cheek, causing Ian to let out a choked groan.

“Maybe.”


End file.
